


in working order

by anabel



Series: the golden boys [5]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabel/pseuds/anabel
Summary: After a knee injury takes Aaron out of football, he's considering playing a final year as the Chiefs backup. Pat isn't sure how he feels about this idea.
Relationships: Patrick Mahomes/Aaron Rodgers
Series: the golden boys [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088150
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	in working order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohtempora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/gifts).



It’s really weird having Aaron Rodgers in his house.

Like, Pat knows the guy on the football field, has beat his ass in a Super Bowl, makes commercials with him on a regular basis. He has his phone number, and not the number that everyone has, but the one that Aaron actually answers. They’re not strangers, is the point.

But knowing Aaron in a football context, and having Aaron walking around his house looking at his fridge magnets and art choices and laundry he needs to fold (oops), are two entirely different things. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, heading to the fridge to figure out if he has any beer or if Kelce cleaned him out again. “I’d say it wasn’t normal, but uh. Yeah.”

Aaron laughs, an amused little snort. “I’m not judging. If I didn’t pay a service, my place would be a disaster. Life’s too short.”

Luckily there’s the remnants of a case of Coors in the fridge, and Pat holds one out to Aaron. 

“So,” he says, leading the way into his living room. “What brings you to Kansas City?”

Pat knows EXACTLY what brings Aaron to Kansas City. He’s not an idiot. 

Aaron snorts again, sinking into one of Pat’s ugly but fucking comfortable chairs. “They haven’t officially made an offer yet, but it’s coming. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Why?” Pat says. When he was younger, he might not have been so blunt, but age takes away the number of fucks you give. He’s always been a straight-shooter, and now even more so. “If Andy wants you, why even bother talking to me?”

Aaron seems a little startled, but his mouth curves up at the corner. “Because you’re the team. I’m not saying Andy’s not a legendary coach, because he is – god, if I’d had him in Green Bay I’d have five rings – but you’re the team. You’re Kansas City. I want to know how you feel about it.”

Pat shrugs one shoulder. “I trust Andy.”

“C’mon,” Aaron says. He hasn’t drunk any of his beer yet. Now he does, just wetting his mouth. “You’re always so polite. Let me have it.”

“You really want to know what I think?” Pat generally thinks a lot of things he doesn’t say. It’s usually a pretty good idea to say less than you think.

“I really do.”

“Okay,” Pat says, and considers. “I think that nobody really knows if your knee will hold up under game pressure. I think you haven’t played in a game in over a year. I think you probably want more money than we should be giving away, with our cap situation, and I think we’re fucked if I go out for more than a game, so why pay an expensive backup if we’re gonna be fucked anyway.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, just drinks his beer.

“But,” Pat continues, “I also think you’re a legend, and if anyone could come back in their 40s from that kind of injury and find their old magic, it would be – well, it would be Brady, but also maybe you. So if we’re going to pay an expensive backup, it might as well be you.”

“A ringing endorsement,” Aaron says, dryly.

Pat grimaces, an apologetic half-smile. “You asked.”

“I did,” Aaron says. He sets his beer down on a coaster on Pat’s coffee table. “Actually, I told my agent to take whatever they offer. I’m not in this for the money.”

“Ring-chasing?” Pat asks. He can still hear the edge in his voice. He’s not sure where it’s coming from. He has no problem with Aaron, never has. 

Aaron tilts his head slightly to one side. “I suppose you could say that, in a way. I just…” 

When he trails off, Pat uses the pause to take inventory. Once upon a time, back in high school, he had a massive crush on Aaron. The man was good at football and hot, and gave off a bit of a diva aura, which was oddly appealing. Nowadays he’s still hot, and still a bit diva-ish, and possibly still good at football. To be determined.

“After the injury,” Aaron finally continues, “I knew I couldn’t go out that way. And the Packers couldn’t wait around, not at my age, I get that, no hard feelings. But I still have some juice left, and I want to go out on top, go out my way.”

“Except if you’re my backup, you probably won’t ever see the field,” Pat says. “I don’t get why someone with your career would want to end it riding the bench. And I’m worried about you being a distraction and messing with our locker room chemistry.”

Damn, he didn’t really mean to say that. Something about Aaron’s face, so – unguarded? – is bringing out the brat in him today.

“Sure, I want to actually play again,” Aaron admits. “But more than that, I want to be part of a team. I want to mentor younger players and be challenged by veterans. I just…I just want the last time I step on a football field to be a good memory. That’s all.”

Pat gets up, picking up Aaron’s beer can along with his own. “Look. If Andy wants you, that’s the end of it. I’m not going to make a stink. But you asked what I thought.”

Aaron follows him back into the kitchen, watching as Pat dumps the cans in his recycling bin. “If it’s not the money, is it just the injury? Because I swear, I’m game ready. And even if I’m not, so what? Then you cut me and get someone else.”

“If we have you as a backup, they’re not going to look for anyone else,” Pat says. “And every time I miss a step or get the wind knocked out of me, everyone’s going to be breathlessly waiting for you.”

Aaron sighs. “If you feel that strongly, I’ll tell my agent it’s a no. There are other options. I just – this one was my favorite. But it has to be the right fit, and if you don’t –”

“And that’s the biggest problem,” Pat says. He’s being a dick, but he can’t seem to stop. “Where’s the fight, Rodgers? You’re just going to give up, just like that? You got to have fire to be on my team.”

“I have fire,” Aaron says.

“Yeah?” He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “Because all I’ve seen is a nice guy who came to the team’s fucking quarterback to get a pass, and is just standing there and taking whatever I say.”

“I have fire,” Aaron says, and this time it comes through his teeth.

Pat juts his chin in mock disbelief.

“Fuck you,” Aaron says, half-playful but half-real, and comes over to get all up in Pat’s space, his hands coming out to shove at Pat’s shoulders.

Pat gets his own hands up first, pushes Aaron’s away, and then Aaron tries again, laughing. They’re teenage friends scuffling in someone’s driveway, all posturing and bravado and gawky limbs, except they’re not, they’re superstars with expertly-honed fitness and million-dollar endorsement contracts and just as much silly awkwardness. 

After a minute of hands flying everywhere, Aaron manages to get past Pat’s guard and pin his shoulders to the wall. “Gotcha,” he says, shoving in close. 

Pat, still grinning from the play fight, abruptly feels something shift in his gut. Aaron is – very close, and he is pinned; his id goes from zero to ninety in a second. This is inconvenient. How can he have a mostly-play argument with his future backup quarterback when the roar of his blood desperately wants that future backup to have his wicked way with him?

“Okay,” he manages, “I yield, you have a little fire.”

Except Aaron is looking startled, and fuck, this is _not_ the time to have an annoyingly expressive face. Or the beginnings of a problem down below that he didn’t think Aaron was close enough to notice, but maybe he was.

“Rodgers,” he starts, voice low.

Aaron’s eyes flick up to his, then drop to his lips, deliberate. An answer, deniable but there. Pat, who would really like not to get punched today, could kiss him for it – and actually…

His shoulders are still pinned, but Aaron’s close enough that all Pat has to do is stretch his neck a little to press a kiss to Aaron’s lips. Light but thrilling, a forbidden line crossed. He kissed Aaron _Rodgers_ , his inner highschooler is whooping –

And then Aaron takes away what little gap remains between them, presses Pat bodily into the wall and kisses him dirty and deep, and there is proof pressing into Pat’s thigh that he is not the only one who has an attraction to quarterbacks.

“Fuck yeah,” he says indistinctly, wrestling a shoulder free of Aaron’s grasp so he can use that arm to pull Aaron closer and grab a handful of his ass. 

Aaron bites his ear. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Pat says, and grinds on his leg, shameless.

Aaron uses his weight and leverage to shove Pat up on his tiptoes, putting his hip into it, and Pat makes an incoherent noise in the back of his throat and shuts up.

~*~

Afterwards, they sit on the floor of Pat’s kitchen together.

“So,” Aaron says, conversationally. “Was that you inspecting my bum knee?”

Pat, who rode it for a while, and later had a great vantage point to a kneeling Aaron, is still remembering how to use coherent words. “What.”

“Think it’ll hold up to a season with the Chiefs?”

“Seems in working order,” Pat manages. 

“Good,” Aaron says, and how has Pat never noticed before that he has the wickedest smile. “Because I have an intense training regimen for it. And if it’s all right with you, I’ve just found an excellent new addition.”

“You talk too much,” Pat says, a helpless grin starting to spread across his face.

“You’re supposed to say ‘Welcome to the Chiefs, Mr. Rodgers.”

“I think I already did,” Pat says, and they grin at each other, in perfect harmony.

~*~


End file.
